The Pilgrim
by P1L9R1M
Summary: The Pilgrim. A wanderer who visits upon camp sites and shares of his travels. He tells of the land and its many mysteries and happenings, exposing great evils and boasting of extraordinary heroism and feats. Follow him as he entertains other weary travelers and seeks out the infinite tales that circulate this wondrous and war torn land.
1. Volcanic Ruins

A hooded figure sauntered toward the newly built campfire as dusk began to take hold of the area, small bits of ash floating down from the sky. The usually active volcanic surroundings were especially calm today, including the winds that swept in during the intense times. None of these things seemed to bother, hinder, or surprise the cloaked traveler, and the ones camping here were intrigued. "May I join you?" voiced the hoarse and elder voice from the shrouded man as he stood a good distance from the camp allowing the band to decide. They all nodded with approval and shortly a small child approached the old robed man, leading him into the fold that was resting here.

"Are you not afraid to travel alone out here, elder?" the mother of the child asked as she poured him some soup. The old man took the bowl of vegetable stew graciously, and in turn looked the woman over. She wore clothes made of patches and rough material, not those of people who lived inside the Shell. "I do not fear the fiery mountain and its rage," he said plainly as he took a seat on the ground. "I know why it is angry and I sympathize with it. It is merely angry that something was stolen from it and it knows no other way to express its rage." The other plainsfolk were now taking seats around the camp fire as well. They ate, rested, and listened. Listening was sometimes the best way to learn, instead of seeking or shouting. They sat tentatively around the dancing flame as darkness crept in, the aged one easing their minds from their journey.

The elder gazed out past the camp and stared at the volcanic ruins barely visible to the others, his gray blue eyes shimmering with light from the fire. "Many summers ago, not far from this very camp site, there dwelled a group of mortals like yourselves. However, they were also very different from you, older and more savage, highly superstitious, and for good reason. These people lived at the foot of the mountain, they worshipped its liquid fire and feared it all at the same time. For, deep within the red chasm, a demon was ensnared, trapped during the Immortal Wars. The ones who lived here would ritually offer sacrifices to appease the mountain so that it would keep the demon entombed. At the peak of the mountain, where the fires meet the skies, an ancient and gigantic chain dangled above the lava plumes swelling inside of the volcano. At the bottom of the chain was an orb which housed the traitorous demon, the sphere almost the size of a family dome. The worshippers knew that if they did not give to the mountain then it would take from them."

The hooded man turned his focus back on his audience, looking them over one by one until he spotted the small child that had brought him into their fold. "In a horrible twist of fate, a sacrifice was the very reason the demon was able to escape. During the most brutal and barren summer they had ever experienced, the denizens of the ash village decided to offer the chiefs only child, Cartijin. With the area fast becoming a haven for fire golems, the whole village traveled to the distant crag, each bringing their most precious of items to persuade the magma mouth. The mountain was most angry as they approached, shaking in rage and spewing with red hot hate. They hurled their gifts into the red tomb but nothing seemed to quell the mountains anger. Even though the child begged and screamed, his father lifted him high above and hurled him into the pyro pit. Yet, as the boy plummeted and pawed frantically at anything to grab onto, he fell upon the large orb at the bottom of the chain. The boy showed no fear as he clung to the demon infested ball, focusing only on saving his own life, at any cost. The creature dwelling inside the sphere knew of this boy and of his current plight, admiring his courage and defiance of tradition. The fire demon knew these people were foolish, unaware of what real purpose his existence was. And so, he took gathered his courage and defied his purpose so as to free himself of this prison of fire and fate. Of course, the demon knew he was bound to the round prison but that a host could allow him to travel until his curse could be broken."

The old man coughed and cleared his throat, quickly finishing his soup afterward. The little girl appeared quickly at his side with some water, offering it to him with a smile. "And, what happened next?" the small child asked excitedly. The pilgrim smiled then nodded in approval. "The demon could only escape if carried by another, so he chose the boy. As the boy gripped and cursed his own, a barrier swallowed him warmly, shielding him from the violent blast consuming the air and land. Cartijins people were incinerated in moments as was the village below. This whole area drowned in fire as the demon broken free from its bonds, trading shackles for shackles. The boy awoke at the bottom of the mountain where his home one stood. Confused and crying, he attempted to search for the ones he called kin but was unable to go far. His right arm was bound with a chain, a chain attached to an orb the size of his very home. Before his eyes, the sphere shrank and shrank becoming no bigger than a small jewel thus allowing the boy to roam. And that is exactly what he has done for the past twenty summers the boy named Cartijin has roamed the lands, carrying his demonic burden wherever he goes. Each of them bound and dependent to one another. Together they seek to free themselves from this curse, their chained existence a constant reminder of the price of freedom and survival."

Many of the travelers were now asleep, the fire burning much calmer than when the story began. The robed man rose and exited the campgrounds, waving farewell to the bewildered child. The man continued on his pilgrimage, looking forward to the next group of travelers he may enlighten and entertain along the way.


	2. Shadows

The elderly man stood fast as the Herdsman acclimated themselves to his presence. It mattered not if he was friendly or non-threatening to them, it was simply their way. Through his travels, the pilgrim had come across many beasts and beauties, learning to handle each situation as safely as possible. If he was to wander these lands then he would have to learn all of the ways to traverse it, including unspoken rules or customs.

The Herdsman were of his favorites to encounter. They were proud, strong, and majestic creatures much larger than that of the Terrans, the race the old man is derived from. However, there were differences between the two Herds that roamed the lands. The Herds were once united but a long ago war forced them to split, not due to a war amongst themselves, but due to how the original group wanted to handle their involvement. Lo, the silver-haired mountain that towered over the others, was against conflict and battle beyond necessary means. Tor, the long-horned brute whose fur shimmered black, wanted to defend the lands and their people against the rampaging war they were caught up in. So, after the war had ended, the supporters of each Chieftain followed them and their ways, thus splitting the Herd.

The aged wanderer recognized this to be Lo's Herd. Lo was the largest and oldest of all the Herdsman, his gray fur and tattered horns showing how many seasons he had weathered. But, Lo was a beast of peace. He and his people lived solely off of the land, sharing the Timber occasionally with the Elves when they would trek to commune with Fae, the goddess of the forest. The wielded no forged weapons, if any weapons at all. They possessed great natural and wild magicks known only to them and a select few creatures in this world.

His old eyes could now see the Herdsman calming their ranks, as best they could. The real reason for each group to be so tense was due to the area they were traveling near, the Shadowlands. This was a tainted and cursed place full of nightmares and horrors unlike anywhere else in this realm, a place of disgrace, greed, and bloodshed. A place of shadows and darkness...creating many problems for night travelers. One could easily lose their bearings and be lost inside that twisted place, or worse, be warped or cursed in return for nearing even its borders.

Lo emerged from the Herd as they began to accept the weary mans presence. The large, hoofed beast lumbered out from the safety of the group, his pace kept up by a large staff that was adorned with leaves, stones, and other natural items. The others were not as stern or steady as their mighty leader, snorting and swaying with anticipation. They may not be a violent crowd but they certainly weren't to be trifled with either.

The hooded traveler stood his ground allowing Lo to approach and establish contact and closure for he and his people. Now in full view, Lo looked exactly as he had during their previous encounter, one of the perks of being immortal the old man supposed. Lo paused a few spear lengths away, the old man awaiting his words. "I am grateful to see an old, familiar face in such a dark, ominous place," Lo slowly boomed at the hooded traveler. "Yet, I am concerned to see a familiar face so close to this foul sight. Before the Herd will accept your company you must prove yourself natural and not shadow."

Lo nodded then raised his staff above his head, chanting quietly. Thorns began to uproot and tangle around the old man's legs, stabbing and churning their way up his body, strangling and tearing him apart. The wandered did not scream, nor did he flee or fall. It was an illusion and he knew the test well. Shadows do not feel pain but they would act as if it hurt only to pass as normal. Lo waived his hand and the illusion dispersed, leaving only a smile on the two aged faces.

Camp was made just as the daylight in the distance faded. Both parties knew the risk of traveling so close to the Shadowlands, especially at night. It becomes easy to get turned around or lost when the light fades, blending the two lands together. Many travelers have fallen prey to the black grip of the cursed land, some disappearing altogether where others become shades. The two groups would keep close tonight, placing wards and protective totems around to deter the influence and power of the shadows.

"Lo!" A large, black furred Herdsman yelled over the group. "Have the traveler tell us a story or news of his travels." The others began to stomp and shout as well, excited for information about the places they do not go or know. Lo rose up from his spot and calmed the rowdy few with a simple wave of his hand. He then took his seat back on the ground in front of the largest of faerie fires and peered at the wanderer. "My people are not like that or my brother Tor's Herd," Lo stated to the pilgrim. "Would you be against giving my people a story or tale?" The old man smirked with a nod and replied. "I would be honored and delighted." The aged wanderer rose from his seat, his hood pulled back so all could see his face well. He cleared his throat and started speaking.

"What I tell you may not ease your minds concerning this place but it well help you understand it and possibly save you from its cruelty in the future. The Shadowlands were born out of greed, blood, and cruelty many, many seasons ago, as I am sure Lo remembers. This was once a vast expanse of hills and fertile land, undeveloped and untouched by most. As each child already had their own lands, this are was left to exist as neutral ground, a passageway of beauty, serenity, and safety. But, the gods decided to test their children by casting down a large, glorious red crystal from the skies above. It came to rest in the center of all the territories, beckoning each child with intrigue. However, the gods soon discovered that their plan would fail, for only the mortals would answer the cursed call. The elves and orcs were too busy with isolation and a war over deforestation, paying little heed to the object. The orcs were too angry at the gods to play their games and the elves were too scared to venture outside of the Timber.

So, the mortals fell upon the blood-colored stone with such avarice that they were blinded by it, never realizing the dangers. A man named Vemeer led the original expedition and was the first to come in contact with the accursed gift. Soon, the stone began to corrupt and curse Vemeer, turning him into a greedy tyrant whose evil the mortals had never witnessed from their own.

His bodyguard and right hand man was a brute by the name of Seth Dulluhan. He was Vemeers executioner and protector, outfitted in heavy black armor that hid his identity, the only outstanding quality being that his armor was adorned in red jewels collected from the stone. Vemeer, now known as Vemeer the Vileheart, had begun mining and imbuing the red crystal in everything within the city he was building around the goliath shard. The Red City was a dark, tainted place, almost a glimpse of what was to come. Shadows lurked to and fro, poisoning the ear of Vemeer and causing him to murder on the slightest whim. His lust and power only worsened as he soon realized that within the stone was a creature of untold power, one that he thought he could free and harness its very essence.

Within the Shell, the pure, uncorrupt mortals were preparing for war. The atrocities could not continue nor could they allow Vemeer and his masked council to poison and blister the land. Due to the amount of corruption though, only a small army could enter. The only ones resistant to Red Cities influence were the platinum-haired Clerics, armored soldiers with the ability to cleanse and heal whatever they touch. A larger army of mages and soldiers would surround the city, keeping a safe distance from the accursed citadel, catching any who try and escape.

So, the first civil war in our history came to be and its effects have left this land scarred and stained, a shadow of its former self. Yet, I have not explained why this area is so dangerous. At the pinnacle of the battle, the blood stone shattered, releasing immense energy that sundered the very fabric of this realm, obliterating all caught in its wake. The Shadowlands were not born from the explosion of god-like magick, but instead from the freeing of the dark creature inside of the crystal. The greed and anger in the hearts of mortals had manifested, released upon all of us as retribution for their foolish fancy of power. The gods tested us and one of their children failed, punishing the rest of us in turn.

Within that new realm lies the Shadow itself, a being bent on deceit and corruption, creating copies of tricked travelers so it can play out whatever scheme it pleases. In addition, Vemeer and Seth have both returned, being sighted as far as the Shell. They are twisted and cursed versions of their even more wretched selves. Vemeer hides from all sources of light, preying upon the blood of his brothers, enslaving them for whatever purpose he pleases. Seth is without physical body, his trapped spirit driving the hollow suit of armor, pursuing permanent death or release while still heading the call of Vemeers commands. The pair are generally accompanied by the shadows of fallen soldiers and the blood crazed minions of Vemeer."

The old man paused, gazing out into the dark world looming in the distance, silent lighting illuminating nothing as a cold wind shuttered the area. "Beware of men with no shadows for they may be shadows themselves."

No sleep was found that night, only restless recognition. The groups parted ways in the early morning, grateful for the encounter and for the escape from the watchful eye of that dark place.


End file.
